Page 10

WHEN I TELL Theo about the book festival, he’s excited for me. We’re lounging on the sofa in my cozy living room, sipping wine. Liza is back at her dad’s so Theo will spend most of the week here. We don’t live together, but he does have two drawers in my dresser. It’s all the commitment I can handle after eighteen years trapped in a toxic marriage. Fortunately, it works well for both of us.

“Wow. Miami,” Theo says. My feet are resting in his lap, and he squeezes my toes. “I’ve never been.”

“Me neither. We took Liza to Disney World when she was little, but we didn’t go to Miami. I’m so excited.”

He smiles at me, his hazel eyes warm. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

“Thanks, babe.” I shrug, shy under his praise, but it does feel amazing. I’m going to be flown across the continent, put up in a stylish hotel, and I get to talk about my book on a stage with other writers. It is a new and special experience for me.

Theo is still smiling at me. “Want some company?”

“In Miami?”

“Yeah.” His face is alight. “I could take a few days off. We could check out Florida, maybe rent a car and go down to the Keys.”

It sounds fun. And romantic. But that’s not what this trip is about. “I’d love to have you with me, but it’s my first writers’ festival. I think I should focus on the book and my panel.”

“Got it,” he says, removing my feet from his lap. “More wine?”

“I’m good.” I watch him move into the small kitchen and grab the bottle of red. His posture is stiff, his mouth set in a thin line. He’s disappointed. Maybe even hurt.

“Why don’t we go up to Whistler when I get back?” I suggest. We’ve gone to the ski resort town before. Theo mountain biked while I explored the village and then curled up by the fire with a book. “Or we could drive to Portland? It’s fun.”

“Sure.” He returns and tops up his glass.

“I’ll be schmoozing with other authors in Miami,” I say as he sits. “It would be boring for you.”

“True.” He takes a big drink of wine. “Because how could I possibly carry on a conversation with a bunch of cerebral authors?”

He’s being childish. I swing my feet around so they’re resting on the floor. “Obviously you could, Theo, but you don’t like to read.”

“So I wouldn’t fit in with your literary crowd.”

“You wouldn’t. But that’s not a bad thing. I wouldn’t fit in with your rock-climbing club. Why are you being like this?”

He takes another drink, turns to face me. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not!” And it’s the truth. But I’m also aware that Theo is significantly younger than I am, that he wears shorts three hundred days a year, and that he calls people bruh a lot. He is adorable and kind and a successful entrepreneur, but we are very different.

“You don’t treat me like your partner, Cam. You treat me like your boyfriend.”

“We haven’t been together that long,” I say gently. “And what’s wrong with being my boyfriend?”

“It’s been twenty-two months,” he retorts.

“And I was married for eighteen years. Twenty-two months doesn’t feel that long to me.”

“It does to me,” he says. “And it feels like we should be making some sort of progress in this relationship.”

“What do you mean, ‘progress’?” I ask. “I told you when we got together that I’d never get married again. I was open about that. And even if I wanted more kids, at my age—”

“I don’t need to get married or have kids.” He cuts me off. “That hasn’t changed. I just want to have a real relationship with you.”

“This is real. What do you mean by ‘real’?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, a sure sign he’s getting frustrated. “Maybe I could move in?”

“You already practically live here when Liza’s at her dad’s.”

“I spend a few nights here every other week. That’s not the same as living together.”

“Theo…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I love you. And I love spending time with you. But I devoted so many years to my marriage and to motherhood, and this is my time. Liza’s going to college soon. I have a brand-new career.” I pause, reach for his hand. “I don’t want a partner. I want a lover, and a companion. And a friend.”

He removes his hand, folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t know if that’s enough for me.”

I sigh, press my fingers to my forehead. “Do we have to do this right now? My book just came out. I’m trying to finish a new outline. I’m mentally exhausted.”

“Obviously that’s more important than our relationship.” He gets up. “I’m going to sleep at my place tonight.”

“Seriously?” I follow him toward the door. I knew I was dating a younger man, but I didn’t realize he was eleven.

But he’s already wrenching his road bike through the narrow hallway. Without another word, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.